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Throughout 2022 I’ll be counting down my 100 favorite albums, because why not. I’m up to number ninety-seven.

As the VP of Licensing at Warner Music, I fielded requests from around the world for our catalogue’s music to be utilized in all sorts of venues. I licensed Bruno Mars songs for Now That’s What I Call Music! compilation CDs. When you hear Phil Collins’ “Sussudio” playing at CVS while you’re purchasing deodorant and suppositories, you have me to thank. If Hallmark wanted to sell a Valentine’s Day card that played Paul Simon’s “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” they’d come to me.

From Holland I received a request for “Like a Virgin” to be placed on a chip in a plush toy – a pig. A pig with a blond ponytail, a cone bra, and a headset. You can put lipstick on a pig – nay, you can put lipstick, a blond ponytail, a cone bra, and a headset on a pig and have it “sing” “Like A Virgin,” it still isn’t Madonna. By that time in my career, Madonna and I had developed a very close relationship, in my mind. As her best imaginary friend, I knew she wouldn’t go hog wild over this proposal.

How did this toy company conceive of this product?

“Two things that are popular – plush animals and Madonna. If we combine the two we’ll be rich! But what should the plush be?”

“A material squirrel!”

“No, Hans!”

“Who’s that squirrel?”

“No, Hans!”

“What it feels like for a squirrel?”

“Hans, fuck off!”

“Well, what’s your brilliant idea, other Hans?”

“Madonna is a woman who brings home the bacon, so what about a pig? Who doesn’t adore Porky Pig? Or Piglet? Or Wilbur? Or Babe? Miss Piggy is a boss, an icon, just like Madonna. Pigs are highly intelligent, just like Madonna. Pigs are playful, just like Madonna. Pigs are very social, just like Madonna. Pigs like to roll around in mud. Pigs can breathe through their butts. Our Madonna plush needs to be pig!”

“And what song?”

“’Like a Virgin.’ After all, pigs have to make it through the wilderness.”

“No, they –.”

“Did I not tell you to fuck off? This Hans is going solo.”

Research demonstrates that most followers of the Jewish discipline of Kabbalah, as Madonna is, are not fans of pork products to begin with, and would consent to being portrayed in such a manner when pigs fly.

Ordinarily I would dismiss it out of hand and not expend my valuable time on something that at best would be received with a disgusted snort; however, at the time I received the request, Madonna was angry with Warner about something or another. I had two choices:

1. Present the request to her. If I do that, she’d complain that Warner sends her insulting and degrading requests (BEING A PIG IS NOT INSULTING AND DEGRADING, MADONNA!, not that she ever actually said it was. They’re intelligent, social, playful and can breathe through their butts. (That’s 100% true, btw.) Listen to what the Hans said!). Presenting the request to her would likely result in permanent damage to our one-way pretend friendship, something she wouldn’t want to happen; or
2. Don’t present the request to her. If she should she somehow find out about it, she’d complain that Warner withholds financial opportunities from her. She’d never forgive me, her bestie, for this, and our non-existent relationship would cease to (non-)exist.

I was stuck between a pork and a hard place, sweating like a pig over what to do. Ultimately, I figured out how to handle the situation and salvage the relationship I didn’t have with Madonna. I sent an email to her manager: “I received a license request that I’m guessing you’d like to pass on, though I’m forwarding to you the details as I wish to ensure you see every request we receive.” Score! Her manager responded that in all likelihood they’d say no, though she appreciated my consideration in letting them know about it. My simple act of doing so brought Madonna and me closer. She was the first person I reached out to to write the foreword for my book, and I was the first person to receive a “no” to that request, via a member of her legal team. That no came sooner than the no for the plush toy, as before they gave me the definitive answer on that, Madonna’s manager wished to see a prototype of the Virgin pig.

The company making the request did send me a prototype. I desired to hold on to it, knowing Madonna’s office would not permit it to be mass produced, resulting in me with the only Madonna pig in the world. I love goofy tchotchkes, and a Madonna pig would look great on my shelf next to my Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam sweat socks, my Terence Trent D’Arby electric toothbrush, and my Sophie B. Hawkins “As I Lay Me Down” hammock. Well, that hammock isn’t on a shelf. It’s in my pig sty of a primary bedroom closet with my Sanyo version of a Sony Betamax. Damn, I wish I had a backyard.

I said to Madonna’s manager “Let me know when would be a good time for me to stop by with the pig,” to which she responded “Just messenger it to me.” Dang! I knew if I do that I’ll never get that piggy back, and I’ll think of it every time I glance at my shelf and see my Aerosmith thermos, my Teena Marie sunglasses, and my Michael Jackson duffle bag. Well, that duffle bag isn’t on a shelf. It’s in my pigpen of a primary bedroom closet with my Sanyo version of a Sony Betamax and my Sophie B. Hawkins “As I Lay Me Down” hammock.

The pig took her trip from Burbank to Beverly Hills and never returned. Madonna’s manager confirmed this deal was a no go.

Madonna hasn’t brought it up in all the times we’ve spoken since, which is never. I appreciate that she didn’t let this license request get in the middle of our pretend friendship, and I can still enjoy her music, even though I’m sure that somewhere there’s a plush pig with a blond ponytail, a cone bra, and a headset, that “sings” “Like a Virgin,” that instead of being prominently displayed on a shelf is sitting in someone’s slop heap of a primary bedroom closet.

As I listen to Madonna’s True Blue, my #97 album, I still thrill to the strings that open “Papa Don’t Preach” and at the time of its release “Live To Tell” was her best ballad yet. Throw in “Open Your Heart” and “Where’s the Party” and “La Isla Bonita” and the title track and you have a bangin’ album.

There’s more Madonna to follow on this list, but for today, th-th-th-that’s all, folks!

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Today’s playlist commemorates the January 20 birthdays of Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker, Kiss’s Paul Stanley, The Roots’ Questlove, The O’Jays’ William Powell, 10cc/The Mindbenders’ Eric Stewart, Take That’s Gary Barlow, M People’s Heather Small, and Ray Anthony, and the January 21 birthdays of Edwin Starr, Run-D.M.C.’s Jam Master Jay, Cat Power, Spice Girls’ Emma Bunton, Tweet, Billy Ocean, Richie Havens, Rapsody, Snooks Eaglin, Mac Davis, and Wolfman Jack.

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Commemorating the January 18 birthdays of The Temptations’ David Ruffin, Korn’s Jonathan Davis, The Ting Tings’ Katie White, remixer Frankie Knuckles, Estelle, The Thompson Twins’ Tom Bailey, A Taste Of Honey’s Janice-Marie Johnson, Kula Shaker’s Crispian Mills, Hard-Fi’s Richard Archer, and Bobby Goldsboro, and the January 19 birthdays of Deep Purple’s Rod Evans, Janis Joplin, The Everly Brothers’ Phil Everly, Dolly Parton, America’s Dewey Bunnell, Robert Palmer, Marcy Playground’s John Wozniak, Shirley Ellis, Deon Jackson, Caron Wheeler, Johnny O’Keefe and Lil Scrappy.

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Today’s playlist is inspired by MLK Day and the January 17 birthdays of Bangles’ Susanna Hoffs, The Rolling Stones’ Mick Taylor, Steve Earle, The Slits’ Ari Up, Calvin Harris, Kaiser Chiefs’ Ricky Wilson, The Delfonics’ William Hart, Lil Jon, Kid Rock, Shabba Ranks, Paul Young, Chris Montez, She & Him’s Zooey Deschanel, and Cassius Clay (Muhammad Ali).

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Commemorating the January 15 birthdays of Captain Beefheart, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Ronnie Van Zant, Slick Rick, The Dixie Cups’ Joan Marie Johnson, Lisa Lisa, The Motels’ Martha Davis, Jack Ü’s Skrillex, Bobby Bloom, and Pitbull, and the January 16 birthdays of Aaliyah, Sade’s Sade Adu, En Vogue’s Maxine Jones, Ethel Merman, Barbara Lynn, Nashville Teens’ Ray Phillips, Kiesza, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Jill Sobule, Jim Stafford, and Yebba.

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In today’s playlist we remember The Ronettes’ Ronnie Spector and celebrate the January 13 birthdays of Question Mark, The Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne, Yes’s Trevor Rabin, Madness’s Suggs, Paul Kelly, The Moonglows’ Bobby Lester, Gwen Verdon and The Originals’ C.P. Spencer, and the January 14 birthdays of Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl, LL Cool J, Kings of Leon’s Caleb Followill, Queensryche’s Geoffrey Tate, Clarence Carter, Jack Jones, Hello’s Bob Bradbury, and Grady Tate.

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Inspired by the January 11 birthdays of The Chemical Brothers’ Tom Rowlands, Mary J. Blige, Bangles’ Vicki Peterson, The Sugarhill Gang’s Big Bank Hank, Slim Harpo, Kasabian’s Tom Meighan, Clarence Clemons, and Kelly Hogan, and the January 12 birthdays of Chris Bell, Rage Against The Machine’s Zack de la Rocha, Wu-Tang Clan’s Raekwon, Spice Girls’ Melanie C, Amerie, Village People’s Felipe Rose, Ruth Brown, The Skatalites’ Roland Alphonso, White Zombie’s Rob Zombie, Roxette’s Per Gessle, Johnny Clarke, The Detroit Emeralds’ Abe Tilmon, Long John Baldry, The Oak Ridge Boys’ William Lee Golden, Gallery’s Jim Gold, and Sharam.

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Throughout 2022 I’ll be counting down my 100 favorite albums, because why not. We’re up to number ninety-eight.

The first time I saw Rufus Wainwright in concert was at NYC’s The Knitting Factory in August of 1999. The songs were great, his voice in fine form, and the long rambling stories between songs, along with the banter between him and his special guest, singer-songwriter Kate McGarrigle (Rufus’ mother), were hilarious. A couple of days later I bumped into him on the corner of 18^th Street and Eighth Avenue, catty corner from the restaurant where I once had a blind date who got hit by a car while crossing the street to meet me. That’s a funny story. So I’d recognize my date, he told me he’d be wearing a scarlet “A.” From across the street he saw me waiting outside the restaurant and figured I was his date. As he crossed Eighth Avenue he reached into his pocket to retrieve the scarlet “A” and pin it to his coat. In the midst of doing that, he hadn’t noticed that the light changed and a car went through the green light and hit him. This story’s not funny like ha ha funny, but funny like does this potato salad smell funny to you? And the impact wasn’t THWACK! CRUNCH! WAAH!, but tap oops ouchie. He was fine.

I’m not sure I could say the same about Rufus, who on the afternoon I bumped into him by the scene of the crime was wearing long sleeves and long pants despite 100% humidity and a temperature of 312 degrees Kelvin. It was probably because at that time in his life he was putting into his body substances which, for several reasons, we won’t mention. I told him I loved the show, but didn’t talk long, as I was sober and sweaty despite my weather-appropriate ensemble.

I saw Rufus again by the Barnes & Noble on 21st and Sixth, whose closure a few years later would force me to walk all the way to the Barnes & Noble on 18^th and Fifth, whose closure shortly thereafter forced me to walk to the Barnes & Noble on 17^th a block east of Fifth. What can I say? I’m a schnook for a book, a jerk for a work, a nerd for the word, a dopus for an opus, a shlublication for a publication, a twit who should quit this bit. At first I saw his pants. Fine, it was cooler that evening than that of our first encounter (probably around 291 degrees Kelvin), but those pants! They were a crazy patchwork design that looked like dozens of discarded potholders stitched together by Mr. Magoo with one hand in his pocket and the other hailin’ a taxi cab. (My friend Chris pointed out that a Rufus Wainwright lyric would make for a better joke here, but I couldn’t think of any that fit, so I went with this reference to a song from Alanis Morissette, who, like Rufus, hails from Canada.) I couldn’t help but stare. I looked up to see the face of who would wear such a monstrosity. “Hey Rufus!,” I said, and then rambled a bit, digging myself a deeper hole with each word. “I noticed your pants – who could miss them? – and was wondering who would wear pants like that like who would be willing to wear pants like that out and was curious as to what kind of person and seeing it’s you makes sense because you DIG DIG DIG, GLENN and I’m going to cross the street now.” He looked bemused by my barmy banter and let out his Woody Woodpecker laugh as I crossed Sixth Avenue.

In all fairness, I’m not the late Mr. Blackwell, the arbiter of fashion. I have a stylist friend who helps me pick out my clothes. If Rufus liked/likes those pants and has no reservations about wearing them where others can see them, that’s all that matters, While I’m concerned with how others will judge me based on my appearance, Rufus isn’t – clearly! That’s something I should strive to emulate. Rufus inspires me to be more comfortable in my own shoes, which, suffice to say, are more fashionable than the shoes he was wearing that day.

Rufus’s music is as distinctive as his habiliments. I’ve heard that genre called “baroque pop,” to which I say, if this is baroque, then don’t fix it. The songs are smart, melodic, lush, and singular. His catalogue continues in the vein of his self-titled album, which was his debut, introducing me to the man who has since become one of my all-time favorite recording artists, which I’ll tell him the next time I bump into him on the street.

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Inspired by the January 10 birthdays of Rod Stewart, Steely Dan’s Donald Fagen, Chic’s Luci Martin, Meat Puppets’ Curt Kirkwood, Johnnie Ray, Pat Benatar, Jim Croce, Kris Kross’s Chris Smith, Scott McKenzie, Bob & Earl’s Bobby Relf, Ronnie Hawkins, Crash Test Dummies’ Brad Roberts, Shawn Colvin, Flight of the Conchords’ Jemaine Clement, and Ray Bolger.

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Today’s playlist is inspired by the January 9 birthdays of Sean Paul, Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page, New York Dolls’ David Johansen, Orbital’s Phil Hartnoll, The Walker Brothers’ Scott Walker, Joan Baez, Backstreet Boys’ AJ McLean, Dave Matthews, Smash Mouth’s Steve Harwell, Haddaway, The Cowsills’ Bill Cowsill, Crystal Gayle, The System’s Mic Murphy, Slim Gaillard and Paolo Nutini.

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